


that beautiful sound

by CampionSayn



Series: February Prompts 2020 [10]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Archivist!Aziraphale, Gen, The Swap, not a principality!Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22676116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CampionSayn/pseuds/CampionSayn
Summary: “It is written!”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub & Gabriel (Good Omens)
Series: February Prompts 2020 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621750
Kudos: 33





	that beautiful sound

_ “It is written!” _   
  
And here was where Beelzebub-as-Gabriel could feel something of a cosmic shift in the room.   
  
Crowley liked to talk about his Angel, who only he could call on and as such; who was stored under heaven in the Archives for being the one and only to out-humanized all other white wings.    
  
He was a tired, lonely thing that had not been on Earth since he’d allowed Crowley to tempt the First Two and compounded the offense by giving Adam the first weapon. He’d been stripped off armor and title and wings; heavenly abilities dimmed down to a bare luminescence because he never got the opportunity to use it.   
  
Crowley gushed about him a rather embarrassing amount compared to Gabriel, because the Prince of Hell miracled a phone at the desk in the Archives that only Aziraphale could use and answer and call him back with so they could just...talk. Like they were silly humans or something.   
  
Not something Beelzebub-as-Gabriel thought he’d be remembering when he had only just escaped having to walk into a pillar of Hellfire by the angel standing between him and his so-called executioners, his too pale hands snapping his fingers and causing the flames to die down to a candle. Which he blew out before the other white wings could say a word.   
  
Then the arguing ensued when he’d rather flippantly informed Sandolphan, Uriel and the Metatron that, “We do not execute our siblings. And anyway, he has his job to return to back on Earth.”   
  
Not at all what Beelzebub was expecting, though he tried to remain in-character when the other had given him that tired, but assured little smile that Crowley called beautiful but Beelzebub was finding difficult to find anything other than sad and, perhaps, a little curious.   
  
“He is a traitor, Aziraphale,” Uriel stated, as though he was a child no more than three years instead of an angel that had been around just as long as the lot of them, “We don’t send traitors on their merry way after something like ruining the Great Plan.”   
  
“You do when you fill out the appropriate paperwork and send it to Mother five seconds after Lucifer tries to attack the Antichrist and fails.”   
  
_ Oh _ , Beelzebub could understand what Crowley saw in him now.   
  
“And anyway, who says he betrayed anyone? And who says that he ruined the Great Plan? Certainly not Mother Herself, isn’t that right Metatron?”   
  
And then Sandalphon said those three tiny, innocuous sounding words.   
  
Aziraphale’s smile, his whole face really, seemed to freeze and his essence glaze over; eyes first, then the rest. His posture stiff, before he seemed to grow a few inches as he slowly went ramrod straight to turn his head and look at the bald angel that had made the statement with absolute confidence.   
  
“...Excuse me?”   
  
That superior look that angels always wore before demons and humans, the one that irked Beelzebub for so long when it decorated Gabriel’s face before they’d made The Deal, made its prominence across all three before them.   
  
Metatron clasped his hands, fingers entwined, save for the pointers and he continued for Sandalphon, “The Great Plan is written that on the Last Day, all shall end in fire and blood--”   
  
The Angel Aziraphale opened his mouth, but didn’t not merely interrupt the Voice of God with word; his mouth kept growing at the seems in what was a decidedly inhuman look compared even to some demons.    
  
Pristine white teeth neet and perhaps sharper than they should have been, looked highly dangerous and every instinct Beelzebub had told them they should run, get away, consequences be damned.    
  
But they were still pretending to be Gabriel and, as far as he could tell, this angel was the biggest idiot of all’s friend. They could not move away.   
  
But oh how much they would have liked to when the sound came through and Aziraphale’s shape changed.   
  
Beelzebub could at least take some pride in not reacting like the white wings, who physically jumped back like a fluffle of rabbits, holding onto each other.   
  
Aziraphale’s laughter sounded something akin to those Apprehension Engines Beelzebub had taken the credit for creating but humans had actually come up with all on their own. The musical instrument that every Hollywood movie seemed to use to produce the sound of violins spliced with guitar and nails on a chalkboard that made goosebumps run up the spine.   
  
Not only that, but the corporeal from given to the angel shifted out of reality before their very eyes, tucked away for after he was done standing before them in righteous indignation and outright fury.   
  
Crowley seemed to have been wrong about Aziraphale being a Principality. Those lot didn’t look like store mannequins made of green-blue granite, heads without features bearing a semblance to rings of pure white spinning inside of each other to protect the glowing orb inside that was probably the source of the horrible noise. His size greater than most Virtues Beelzebub had seen, standing at a good thirty feet and nearly touching the ceiling.   
  
Still only two wings, but, he was absolutely higher on the food chain than the three shivering before him.   
  
“Now,” Aziraphale finally stated, finite and absolute, “I will speak, and you will listen. If something so important had ever existed, do you not think that I, sole Archivist that I am, would not have seen it even once?”   
  
None of them spoke. And he gave them every chance for exactly forty-three seconds.   
  
“I thought not,” he spoke, something of that glibness still in him, as well as that tired annoyance Gabriel spoke of once or twice.   
  
“He is going back to Earth. He is going to continue what he has been doing. The only difference between then and now is that he will receive trainees to teach, and a handler to keep updated.”   
  
He leaned down and those pure white rings seemed to slow, just a little and just threatening enough.   
  
“Do you understand?”   
  
Uriel, who stood a little in front of Sandalphon and the Metatron, seemed to swallow down...whatever it is she probably wanted to say; and then she nodded.   
  
“So I can hear you.”   
  
“Y-Yes, Aziraphale.”   
  
As if the name was an incantation, the terrifying display of power seemed to sigh, dull and messy wings sagging before they all blinked and Aziraphale was back to himself. A slightly overweight body, middle-aged, too tired looking for anyone  _ not  _ to ask if something was wrong.   
  
He turned those weary, watery eyes upon Beelzebub-as-Gabriel, who was actually taller than him by a couple inches, and nodded, “You can go home now. I’m sure your friend is waiting for you.”   
  
…Had he just winked where nobody but Beelzebub could see?

**Author's Note:**

> I am soooooo behind on February prompts. Have some additions to this dinky AU!


End file.
